Jealousy
by Samayel
Summary: Draco's POV at graduation, looking at the one student who has made his life seem like a failure.


DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play.

Jealousy

When I was very small, Mother warned me of the Green-Eyed Monster. It was just a childhood story. Scary, scarcely comprehensible, but as familiar as the sound of her voice. Comforting in a curious way. The Green-Eyed Monster would rear its ugly head when least expected, then gnaw at a person's inside until they were torn apart from within. Grisly, yes, but so are so many childhood fables. I never really feared the Green-Eyed Monster. Until I came to Hogwarts.

Harry Potter. Nothing to look twice at, save for a stupid scar he'd got as a baby. He wasn't special. He wasn't anything. His clothes were huge, filthy rags not fit to wipe a floor. His face was plain, in an even and ordinary way. He was short, and skinny, and he wore glasses that looked like they'd been fixed a hundred times (and none of them very successfully.) His hair was a disaster. Unweeded gardens were better groomed. Nothing to look twice at... but everybody did.

I'm used to attention, but then, I deserve it. My family is among the most powerful and influential in the wizarding world, and it has been since time immemorial. I am my family's heir. The only son of the Malfoy legacy, and I am destined for greatness. Nothing is denied me. Money buys access, buys favor, and buys anything else I want.

I have always been better than those around me. They always knew it, too. It wasn't even necessary to tell them! I'm beautiful, I'm brilliant, I'm talented, and I'm wealthy beyond the dreams of my peers. I've never failed at anything. I flew my broom when others still toddled about on foot. I learned magic as easy as breathing. My social standing and skills in etiquette are flawless.

Why do I feel so empty? How could I hate someone so trivial, so much?

Everyone adores him. They fawn over his every word and deed. Rules are things for other people, if you're Harry Potter. They follow him, girls and boys alike. Simpering, prattling idiots. The Prophet dotes on his every scrape; page after page of drivel. He doesn't even try. HE DOESN'T EVEN TRY!

He never saw a broom before Hogwarts, but he flies like he was born on one. Youngest Seeker in a century; best Seeker in an age. No room left to mention the second youngest. Or the second best. If I caught a million Snitches, no one would care as long as Potter was still on a broom.

His friends worship the ground he walks on. I keep my 'friends' in line with threats and bribes. I'll bet they talk to him about anything they want, say anything they feel. I can't say anything without considering the risk first. The Weasel and Granger would do anything for him, follow him anywhere, even unto death. No one would die for me. No one would risk as much as a splinter to help me.

No one even knows me. Even if they did, it would do no good. For all that anyone truly knows me, I may as well not be here. I'm more than intelligent enough to have puzzled a few things out. Ugly truths that shouldn't be. My life is a fraud. A waste. A barren and desolate landscape devoid of real joy. I have realized that I hate being alive. I didn't always feel this way, but the last seven years have made a difference.

I was innocent before I came here. I was safe in the knowledge that the world was a place made to make Draco Malfoy happy. Then HE took it all away. He didn't even try. He doesn't even know. Likely, he wouldn't even care, either. He has a life that dreams are made of, and I have the nightmare that is left. I hate him so much.

Everything I thought was important has been taken from me, and everything he does reminds me of what I can never get back. I can insult him, humiliate him, hex him or even kill him, but nothing... nothing will undo the way he changed my world.

Tonight we celebrate our Leaving. Tonight I will leave. I watched them all enjoy their petty little victory. They have their education, as I have had mine. He is at the center of it all. Loved, admired, respected and eternally famous. He never even tried. I am on the edge. Alone, unseen, quietly tolerated, and privately loathed.

The sound of their happiness is crueler than any hex or curse. So I will leave. The halls are empty, the dorms are silent and the Owlery is waiting. My last missive is in my hand, and I still can't think of anything I miss. The feast is a lump of ashes in my stomach, and the punch might as well have been lye.

It's quiet except for soft clicks, hoots and fluttering of the owls. It soothes jangled nerves, and this is good. I have to let go of everything. My letter is missing. I can't even say where or when I lost it, but I'm not going back. I'm never going back. I have what matters.

HE was never good at Potions. Not that anyone cared, but I was always better than him at that. I brewed this one perfectly. I always brewed them perfectly, but this one is special. This one is for me. I draw the stopper.

I can't imagine what they will think. Finding me here, sitting beneath a window to the sky, utterly peaceful at last. It's been so long since I was peaceful.

Tears. I never let them go where anyone could see them. No one has ever heard them, either. I'm alone, but I never make a noise. They just come without my leave and feel cold on a face that suddenly seems like it's on fire. I let them go. It doesn't really matter anymore; it doesn't change anything. There won't be anyone to hide them from.

So many potions taste bitter, or even downright foul. This one is so very sweet. Like every happy dream you can imagine. I can feel it working, painless and perfect, just as it ought to be. HE couldn't have made it this well.

Everything is muzzy and distant. I can hear a fluttering sound, another owl, or maybe falling cloth. Footsteps, or was it the beat of wings? So hard to tell. Nothing hurts, and nothing ever will.

Those are hands. Someone is touching me, grabbing me, shaking me. My eyes are dimming and it doesn't matter. I can hear them screaming for me. They must be, but it sounds like whispers to me.

One last look won't hurt. It's almost like saying goodbye. At the end of a tunnel longer than you can imagine, I see him. I see his green eyes. Mother was so right to warn me.

You were right about the Green-Eyed Monster, Mother. He was where I least expected him, and he killed me from the inside.

FIN


End file.
